Where The Love-Light Gleams
by sneauxfo
Summary: In which Rex is home for Christmas. Gatlex.


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_Better not._

It had been weeks, at least, is what Rex figured. Not just now— no, just right now it had only been an hour at most.

But since he'd last been here, it had been weeks, at least. Before the ugly fight and exchange of words— why'd they have to fight? Why'd they have to test each other? Why'd they have to be so damn similar and refuse to back down, even to one another, _especially_ to one another— and they couldn't be like normal couples that just…cuddled and cupcaked.

No. He and Gatlocke had to push, had to shove, had to press and prod and come at each other with tongues sharp and hands ready to bruise. Since the first day, and up until the last when Rex had gotten fed up and walked out the apartment, down these steps, and never turned back.

It was just like the both of them, too, to never call one another. No one actually broke up with anyone, but…it was to be assumed, wasn't it? Especially after three weeks of no contact…but….

Here Rex was. Stoned out of his mind. Stoned enough that he had come back, to say the least. And yet, not quite stoned enough to knock.

_But…it's Christmas._

Forty minutes in and counting, told his phone. He had been out here an hour, after all. Some part of him was conscious that he'd long lost feelings in his hands and feet, and another part imagined him to be more tree than a person, with thick stumps for legs, the way he felt— rooting him to the ground. All that was missing was a star atop his head. And maybe then Gatlocke would be happy to see him, and put the star there himself.

Rex exhaled sharply, running his hands over his face and trying to get a hold of himself.

_No, better not._

He turned away, ignoring the clench of his chest as he looked down the building stairwell. He'd go back to Noah's, get even higher, and not be alone. Not be cold, either…. In the impulse to come here, he'd run out in only a t-shirt. What a waste of time.

But he'd been alone at Beverly's party, too. Even with Circe laughing in his ear, and Moss thrown across his lap, he'd felt hollow, missing something. The entire night, there was only one person that he wanted to see, who hovered in Rex's thoughts with crazed eyes, a curled snarl, and weight pinning him to a wall as he squirmed and snarked.

That was left behind, though, when Rex walked out. And it should stay there. Probably. He was never the type to regret past decisions.

_But it's—_

A door opened and suddenly the ground around him was lit up, the gentler glow of the small lights lining the window swallowed up in incandescent glare. "Rex?"

He froze more at the voice. He'd hear it in his mind, from memories and from dreams, and coming back into the waking world was like realizing a deep gash on his body. Hearing the voice now in person was like gaining a piece of himself back, like getting the gash stitched back together. It hurt as much, as well.

Rex thought about bolting. Taking off right then, and closing this chapter of his life for good. And yet, at the same time, he thought…maybe…he could go inside—

No, he'd better not—

But it was Christmas—

He didn't even register the crunch of snow under footfall as a warm body draped itself over him.

"You're freezing."

The words sloshed warmly into his ear. The breath that carried them smelled thick of eggnog. Rex wanted nothing more than to leech the remaining taste. He turned, but Gatlocke's nose was dipped to the crook of Rex's neck and shoulder, inhaling deep. Gatlocke's hands were on him, pressing into him, fingers digging into creases of muscle or bone, maybe to help thaw him, or maybe to memorize it all in one go.

Through the fog in his mind, Rex noted that even though it was cold, and Gatlocke was bare from the waist up, the man felt hot pressed against him.

The past three weeks went by with none of this.

But with Gatlocke here now—

"I've been worse," Rex finally admitted, and his voice broke, and he'd blame it on the weed later.

That was all it took, apparently, for Gatlocke to give him an awkward heave, and begin pulling him towards the open door. Rex didn't protest. Even became a willing accomplice a few steps later, when the door was shut and clothes were shed, and they didn't even end up fucking in the end, only fell asleep naked and curled against one another.

Perhaps it was better to have not. But they'd hash out the details once sober. When it'd still be Christmas.

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End file.
